


Poem of the end

by adelaide_rain



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Angst, Dubious Consent, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Apocalypse, Shadow infections
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-20
Updated: 2013-08-26
Packaged: 2017-12-24 01:48:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/933721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adelaide_rain/pseuds/adelaide_rain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since the Shadows appeared, Jack's been on his own, though since there aren't many people left that's not much of a surprise. But then he meets Pitch. This might be the end of the world, but at least he doesn't have to face it alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [not_poignant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_poignant/gifts).



The rifle hits Jack's hip as he walks, too tired too think, too tired to lift the rifle, too tired to do anything but put one foot in front of the other.

The sun will set soon, and he can't even bring himself to care about that. He's tired of walking. He's tired of being alone. He's just _tired_.

The corpse of the road stretches out before him, more pothole than smooth surface. The land around it is vast and lonely, nothing but flat grasslands for miles, until the mountains rise up like huge mass burial mounds that blot out the sun. His only companion is the oil pipeline that runs parallel to the road, long abandoned. Chunks of it are missing, scavenged. Jack has missing pieces of his own, and he sympathises.

There's nowhere to shelter other than the pipeline, and that's not going to do much against the cold. The cold's a good thing though, it might be enough to keep the Shadows away. The last person he spoke to said there was an abandoned town before the mountains, and it can't be far now, surely. He just needs to keep walking. 

He keeps going, powered by that tiny flicker of hope. The first frosts of the year make the rough road slippery and the going is slow, so slow. And then the hidden sun sinks lower and colours spill over the sky like blood. The flickering flame of hope gutters. Another night out in the open.

"Hands on your head."

It's been weeks since Jack heard another voice and it takes a few seconds for it to register. He walks a few more robotic steps before coming to a swaying stop. He turns, stiff as old floorboards. It wouldn’t surprise him if there was no-one there, if it was nothing but the wind playing tricks on him. But there is a man. Tall, dark hair. Pale and vaguely familiar. He's also pointing a shotgun at Jack.

"I said hands on your head."

Jack moves slowly, staring at the man as he takes the rifle and bags from Jack. The familiarity clicks into place. The man's one of the scientists who worked on containing the Shadows when they first appeared. He was in a PSA that had been all over television - every channel, every advert break - smiling as he explained that they were close to a solution, and victory was certain.

"You're a fucking liar," Jack says, voice hoarse from disuse. The guy can't know what he's talking about but a self-deprecating smile skitters over his lips.

"I am. What are you doing here?"

"Running. Same as everyone."

"There's not much of _everyone_ left." The man looks at him for a long, long moment and the sky gets darker. "You better come with me."

After stopping, it's hard to start moving again. Jack tells himself that if the guy was going to shoot him, he'd have done it already. And fuck, being shot would be better than being caught by the Shadows.

They don't go far. About half a mile away there's a truck, half-hidden in the long grass at the side of the pipeline. It’s a beast. Six huge wheels, bullbars, armour and solar panels.

The man tosses Jack’s stuff carelessly in the back, and Jack glares at him. The man gestures for him to get in passenger seat, and he’s the one with the gun so Jack does what he’s told. But when Jack sits down everything else disappears. He'd forgotten what comfort was like. He'd forgotten comfort _existed_.

The roar of the engine makes Jack jump. He can feel the truck's purr under his hands, under his thighs and ass. Memories of his own car - his dad's car - stir and he quickly pushes them away.

As the man sets off, pulling onto the road, Jack can't bring himself to care where they're going. He leans against the window and watches as the mountains get bigger. Now that he’s sitting and warm, exhaustion smothers him. He’s too tired to worry or even to think.

They drive for an hour on the road, and then across the grasslands. The way the uneven surface jerks him around makes Jack wince, all his aches and pains screaming for his attention. And then they stop, seemingly in the middle of nowhere.

"Out," the guy says, but it’s not as easy as that. By the time Jack manages to coerce his body out of the truck and into a standing position, the guy is waiting impatiently, Jack's rifle and bag over his shoulder along with his own.

Jack watches as he throws a tarp over the truck, covered in grass and mud. It's a surprisingly good disguise, especially in the gathering dark.

The man moves, and like a magician’s trick, a section of the mountainside becomes a lichen strewn metal door, opening with a whispering creak. Jack stares at it dumbly as the guy gestures him inside. The air is filled with the thrum of a generator and a slightly damp smell. Dim yellow lighting. Rough hewn rock walls with a tangle of pipes. The door slams behind him, there's the thunk of a lock, and then the muzzle of a gun in his back.

"Strip."

Jack blinks, and then gives a strangled laugh. "You're not even going to take me out to dinner first?"

The guy sighs. "I want to make sure you're not infected."

Jack considers arguing, but what's the point? The guy's right. An infection by the Shadows takes days to kick in, but when it does everyone in the vicinity will be dead, quickly and painfully. Jack's seen it happen too many times. He moves slowly, pulling off layers, until he's shivering in the stone hallway. The guy circles him, lifting his arms and inspecting, and then nods.

"Fine. Leave those clothes there. I'll find you something clean to wear, and you can have a bath."

"A bath?" Jack stares. Water is easy enough to find, but it's freezing up here - that's the point, Shadows can't survive in subzero temperatures.

"A bath," the guy repeats, and leads the way.

It's made of tin and so small that Jack can't straighten his legs, but the water is hot and Jack closes his eyes and refuses to think about anything. The guy brings him clothes that are too big but clean, and then leads Jack into a small room with a couple of battered armchairs. Jack sinks into one with a groan. He's not seen this level of comfort in years.

The guy sits in another of the chairs and considers Jack for long moments. His eyes are golden, Jack thinks dumbly. 

"If you want to stay, you help,” the guy says. “Cooking, cleaning, guarding. Got it?"

The words are completely unexpected and Jack stares at him. "You- you want me to stay?"

The guy doesn't answer, and Jack doesn't blame him. He'd never admit to being lonely either.

Jack chews his lip thoughtfully. "You get many Shadows here?"

"Monthly, maybe. More in summer, less in winter. As long as you're inside, you should be safe. As safe as anywhere."

Jack nods slowly. He's sick of walking, and where's he walking to? There are no cities left, few people. This is as good as he's going to find, better than he ever hoped. "I'm Jack."

"Call me Pitch." Pitch offers him a hand, and Jack shakes it, a ridiculous outdated gesture, but Jack finds comfort in the warmth of Pitch's touch.

Pitch shows him around. There's not much to see. It used to be a scientific outpost, Pitch tells him. Most of the stuff was here already, some he's scavenged. When he shows him to his room - he gets his own room! - Jack's mouth opens soundlessly. There's a bed. Small, barely more than a cot, but there's a mattress and blankets, and suddenly tears well up in Jack's eyes. This is the closest thing he's had to a home since his dad died, three years ago.

As he starts to cry, Pitch touches his shoulder lightly.

"I'm not going to say that you'll be happy here, or even safe, but it's better than being out there."

Jack nods and wipes at his eyes.

"I'll stay. For now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been a long time in the writing. It started off as about 3k long, but when it came to the edit it somehow hit 10k... And here we are. This is just the prologue; further chapters will follow. 
> 
> For [Pia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/not_poignant), one of the loveliest people in this or any fandom. 
> 
> Title from [two](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Poem_of_the_End) Russian poems.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for mentions of past dubcon.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone that took the time to comment and give kudos <3

Jack’s starting to get used to having a roof over his head and having someone there.

At first he slept most of the days away, catching up on years of lost sleep. When he wasn’t sleeping, he was eating and wondering what Pitch wanted from him.

After a couple of weeks he started to help out. Making lists of stocks of food and drink and ammo; cleaning the truck; being shown the meager security system consisting of one camera. He’s been learning some basic electronics. That’s how Pitch gets his supplies, fixing stuff for some soldiers holding down a fort near Fairbanks. He works with their nearest neighbour - that _neighbour_ being ten miles away - to fix whatever needs fixing.

Jack’s going to meet this neighbour in a few hours. They’re making a run down to the fort. It's s seven hour drive, so they’ll be staying overnight, and that's something that Jack isn’t looking forward to. On his way north, he stopped at the fort. It was a welcome break from sleeping on the roadside, but it wasn't free. Nothing's free. He only has one way to pay, with a talented mouth and a naked body. He doesn't mind it, not really, but he doesn't want to see the soldiers again either.

He sighs and puts down the wrench that he's been using to tighten up the screws on whatever-the-hell this is. Maybe he should tell Pitch. But what if Pitch reacts badly? Everything that Jack's got, everything he's been getting used to, he could lose in one breath.

And this everything is something Jack wants to keep.

Jack's still quiet, though he's speaking more and feeling more like himself, the self he remembers buried under years of running. Crooked smiles and retorts have been springing to his lips as though from some reservoir, deep within. Like it's been iced over, not drained as he had thought. And that's because of this - having somewhere to call home. Having someone to call home.

Not that he knows Pitch yet, so it's stupid to think of him as home. He's as quiet as Jack. Loneliness and being alone make people that way. But he responds to Jack's retorts with his own, mirrors his crooked smiles, and maybe his frozen heart is thawing too.

The whisper of the door opening and Jack turns to see Pitch and give him a nod of greeting. At his side is a man, tall but not so tall as Pitch. There’s too much grey in his hair for the smattering of wrinkles around eyes that narrow when they see Jack.

“And who's this?” He asks, and his accent takes a few seconds to process. Australian. Must have been in America when the Shadows struck, and there was no going home after the quarantine. Poor bastard.

“This is Jack,” Pitch says, going over to examine Jack's work. He nods and smiles at Jack before turning back to the stranger. “He's staying here.”

The stranger blinks and puts his hands on his hips. “Didn't tell me you'd gotten yourself a boyfriend. I was hoping for a fuck tonight.”

Pitch rolls his eyes. “He's not my boyfriend. And I'm sure one of the soldiers will be happy to oblige you.”

“He's not your boyfriend but you still don't wanna fuck?” There is doubt in his eyes but then he waves a hand at Pitch. “Whatever. Since when do you tell me anything anyway?”

“Since when do you listen?” Pitch picks up Jack's wrench and makes a couple of adjustments.

“Yeah, yeah.” The stranger comes up and looks at Jack for a long moment. Then he grins. “How about you? There are plenty of spare beds in the fort - we could get ourselves some privacy, have a little fun.”

Once Jack would have said yes, and quoted a price - food, water, clothes. But he has all of those things here. And the stranger is handsome enough, but he doesn't do anything for Jack. Not that anyone does much for Jack. Other than for payment, he’s rarely interested in sex. The strange uncomfortable pull he feels toward Pitch is about as much as he gets these days, though that's getting less uncomfortable as the weeks pass. Shifting into something else. “No thanks.”

To his surprise, instead of being angry, the stranger laughs, not unkindly. “Ah well, worth a try, eh? Good looking kid like you. Don't mind me, mate. I'm just annoyed that Pitch didn't bother telling me about his not-boyfriend. We nearly always spend the nights down at the fort together. I've been looking forward to it - it's like Christmas.”

Pitch rolls his eyes again. “Christmas must have been very odd in your household.”

“I'm taking the piss in case you hadn't guessed. You'll do in a pinch but you're not that special.”

“That's not what I remember you saying last time.”

A blush creeps over the stranger's cheeks and he points at the thing in Pitch's hand. “Good job with that, mate,” he says to Jack, an atrocious attempt at changing the subject. Jack can't help but be curious as to what was said last time. A little curious, too, about what Pitch is like in bed. “I'm Bunny.”

“The neighbour,” Jack says.

“The neighbour,” Bunny agrees. “And I designed that. A weapon against the shadows, I hope. It mimics sunlight. Made from an old tanning bed, if you can believe it. Not tried it out yet - not seen a Shadow in a few months, thank christ - but the soldiers down at the fort are interested. If it works then I'm really on to something.”

“Yes, and you'll also be able to set up a tanning salon,” Pitch says, and hands over the device. “You'll make a fortune.”

“Mock all you want, mate,” Bunny says, shaking his head. “Are we going or what?”

===

The drive down to the fort is long. Jack sits up front with Pitch while Bunny stays in the back, working on some last minute adjustments to his device. They don't speak much.

Jack's not sure what to think of Bunny. He's not sure what to think of the relationship between Bunny and Pitch, either. They don't exactly seem compatible. They barely seem to like each other. Then again, if it's only sex, that doesn't require _like_. Jack knows that.

He looks out of the window as Pitch drives. How different everything looks at this speed. The cairn-like mountains retreat into the distance, and the jolts from driving over the potholes don't hurt nearly as much as tripping over them did. He snoozes, and when he wakes, the sun is dipping low in the sky. His heart lurches and he sits up. They can't be out here after dark. They _can't_. He's seen a wave of Shadows catch up to a speeding car and tear the doors off, easy as opening a tin of screaming sardines. And this far south it’s too warm, it’s too warm-

“Jack?” Pitch glances over at him.

“It's getting dark,” he whispers, trying to keep his breath from hitching.

“There's an hour before sunset. We'll get there. I promise.”

Jack glances at him. “You shouldn't promise. You promised in that fucking PSA.”

“So I did,” Pitch says, his voice oddly flat. He doesn't speak again, and he doesn't look at Jack again.

Even when they arrive at the fort, a well-armoured door rising to let them into a large garage, Pitch doesn't look at Jack or say anything. Bunny is too busy with his last-minute adjustments to notice, so Jack just follows what Pitch is doing, carrying boxes to the door, and wondering if he's fucked everything up already.

The soldier that opens the door when Pitch pounds on it isn't one of the ones that slept with Jack, though he recognises him and offers a leer. Jack half-wants to stay in the truck, but he sighs and picks up a box, following the others. It's no big deal, or it wouldn't be if Jack hadn't already pissed Pitch off.

It'll be fine, he tells himself. What's the worst that could happen - Pitch tells him he doesn't want Jack to stay with him? Maybe Bunny will have him instead - he's already said he thinks Jack is good looking.

They dump the boxes in what looks like a lab, where another soldier, one that Jack doesn't recognise this time, checks over everything and nods.

“Everything's as agreed. You can load up your truck in the morning and I'll give you the next batch of stuff to fix.”

“I've got this thing,” Bunny says, offering his device to the soldier, but Pitch walks off. Jack looks from one to the other, and then follows Pitch.

He's considering the merits of apologising to Pitch when he steps into a new room, full of soldiers whose faces curve into grins when they see Jack.

“Well, well,” one of them says. Kranston, says the patch on his uniform. Jack remembers him for his mean smile and a smell of stale sweat. For the others it was just sex, and Jack's fine with that. But there was - and is - cruelty in Kranston's eyes. He didn't do anything other than fuck Jack, but there were threats, nasty threats with too much detail to be idle. Jack can taste something sour in the back of his throat and his hand rises to touch Pitch's back, fisting in his coat. Pitch glances over his shoulder at Jack, frowning, but Jack doesn't let go and he doesn't explain. “I see you brought us a special treat tonight, Pitchiner.”

Kranston has a half-empty bottle of clear liquid in his hand, and as he approaches Jack can smell the alcohol.

“I didn't bring you a damn thing,” Pitch says, snatching the bottle from Kranston and taking a swig of it before handing it to Jack. With shaking hands, Jack takes it and moves to sit in a corner. Pitch moves to join him, but is accosted by another soldier asking him about fixing an engine on one of their Jeeps.

From his corner, Jack watches as the soldiers come to Pitch, and then Bunny when he arrives, showing them files and papers, offering them drinks. Lost in their usual routine, Jack is forgotten about, and that's fine.

That's fine.

He sits and he drinks until tiredness creeps over him. He rests his eyes.

And then there's a hand around his wrist, trying to pull him to his feet.

It's Kranston. Even more drunk than before. His eyes are angry, and from last time Jack knows that angry means horny, too.

“Get off me,” Jack says, completely awake now. He tries to pull his wrist away but Kranston's grip has strength fed by drink and lust.

“You didn't say that last time,” Kranston says, chuckling and pushing Jack to the floor, climbing on top of him. “You said, _yes, fuck yes_ -”

“ _No_ ,” Jack says, panic racking up notches inside of him- clickclickclick - but Kranston doesn't move away, he grinds his hips into Jack's-

Until he's pulled away, to his feet, until he's crying out in pain with his arm pinned behind his back by Pitch.

“He said no,” Pitch says calmly, though there's a flash in his eyes that makes Jack swallow.

“He's a fucking whore-”

“Who said no,” Pitch says, pulling on the soldier's arm again. There's a struggle, and the soldier manages to get out of Pitch's grip. He turns to glare at him, death in his eyes.

“You're doing this? For him? What, is he giving it to you for free?”

“I'm doing this for him, and because I don't like men like you.”

On the other side of the room, the other soldiers are snickering. There are murmurings of _three MREs on Pitch_ and _are you kidding? He's just a fucking scientist! Five MREs on Kranston_.

And then it happens quickly. Kranston - lunges at Pitch, alcohol making him careless. Pitch, who must be just as drunk, sidesteps easily and brings a fist up to punch Kranston in the face. There's a wet cracking noise that shuts up the other soldiers, and Kranston roars, blood pouring from his nose. He staggers forward with a haymaker and this time Pitch catches his fist, twists his arm until there's a dull, barely perceptible _snap_ and Kranston screams, sinking to his knees and giving little gasps of pain.

Pitch turns to look at them coolly. “I was in the Army for five years before I became a military scientist. And while you've been holed up in here with food and drink and safety, I was out there. Surviving.”

He offers Jack a hand up, and then walks out of the hall with long strides. Jack glances at Kranston, who's still wheezing. The other soldiers are settling their bets, and none of them are going to help him. A brief urge to kick him washes over Jack, but he decides to follow Pitch instead.

“Thanks,” he says, and Pitch glances down at him.

“There's no need to thank me.”

“I- thought you were angry at me. About calling you a liar.”

“Not angry at you, Jack. Angry at myself. At how easily I fuck everything up.”

A moment of silence stretches to snapping and rebounds.

“I thought about telling you. About- About sleeping with them. Some of them. For food and- Things. But I thought maybe you'd be angry, or- Not want me to live with you anymore. But-”

“It's none of my business. Like I said - we've been surviving, however we can. Do you really think I'm going to judge you?”

Jack shrugs. “How should I know?”

A smile, that self-deprecating one again, plays over Pitch's lips. “I barely know myself sometimes. But that particular thing isn’t something that you have to worry about.”

They go into an empty dorm, where Bunny is already spread out on one of the bunks, snoring loudly.

Pitch takes a bunk as far from Bunny as he can get and lies down in one smooth movement. He seems perfectly in control of his body. Even in the fight, he had been graceful and controlled, like a dancer. Jack envies him his grace. Back in his old life, he had been his school's star gymnast, but this life has stolen so much from him. His body is a mockery of what it used to be. He’s gone from handsprings and balance beams to having trouble walking sometimes. Loud complaints come from his hips and knees, and he must be half Pitch's age.

“Do you really- not mind?” He asks as he gets into a bunk opposite. “That I let people fuck me for food, or whatever?”

“Of course I don't. Why should I?” There’s a long moment of silence and Jack wonders if Pitch has fallen asleep, but then he continues in a voice thick with self-hatred. “I fixed things. Even before I got here. I fixed things for people that could pay. And if they couldn’t, I walked away. And later, I would wonder about them. If they were dead because I refused to help them. And I’d hate myself. I still hate myself. And you think I’m going to judge you?”

Jack doesn't answer.

===

When they get back to the bunker, Bunny grins at them and pulls out a bottle of clear liquid.

“Won it in a card game,” he says.

They spend the night drinking it, and the room starts by spinning, and then it spins some more. At some point, Jack ends up sitting close to Pitch, very close, their thighs touching. Pitch is so warm, Jack thinks. So warm and so pale. And those eyes, with long lashes, and arching dark eyebrows. The strong nose and the pointed chin. He's not handsome. But he's - appealing.

Jack clambers into his lap as the room continues to spin. He puts his hands on Pitch's shoulders and leans forward so that their foreheads are touching. Pitch's hands go to Jack's waist, but he doesn't push him off. They just rest there, warm and reassuring, and Jack sighs.

“You can have me, if you want. I should do something. As payment. For letting me stay here.”

“I don't want paying.”

“...do you want me?”

Pitch's hand goes to the back of Jack's neck, so warm, so warm. “Yes,” he says, but that's all. No kiss, no hand pressing against Jack's cock or his ass or anything else, and Jack feels slightly adrift. He's used to people wanting him, but they've always taken what they wanted. He doesn't know what to do so he just stays where he is, until the room continues to spin even with his eyes closed.

And then he's waking, his stomach in turmoil, and he races for the door, not even thinking about Shadows or raiders or anything other than _oh god_ , and then he's out in the weak morning sunlight throwing his guts up a few feet from the door. He's not even wearing his hoodie and he's cold, and miserable. The grass is icy under his knees and hands, and his head is throbbing. He thinks for a moment of how, in another world, he might be doing the same thing but in his bathroom in college, and gives a sob streaked with laughter.

The door whisper-creaks and there are footsteps. Jack doesn't even turn, until a glass of water is thrust into view. He takes it and swirls a mouthful around and spits it out, trying to clear his mouth of the taste of vomit. He gulps the rest down greedily, and he takes the blanket that Pitch offers him and wraps it over his shoulders.

He moves to lean against the mountain and tries not to hate _everything_ , but when his head is pounding and his stomach threatening and memories of Kranston too close, it's hard. There's a lot in this world that's worth hating.

“My car stopped working just outside Chicago,” Jack says, feeling bleary and hurting, and just wanting to tell Pitch so that it's out there and he doesn’t have to worry about it anymore. “After my dad- When I was on my own. One of my dad's friends lived there, and I thought, if he was still there, maybe he could help me. And he did help me. But there was a price. He said, if I wanted to stay then I had to- I-” Jack bites his lip as he remembers the cold Chicago winter that kept the Shadows away, and the too-hot hands that made him sometimes wish that it wasn't so cold outside. What justice is there, that his dad should be infected and this piece of shit should live?

Well. He didn't live long.

And after the raiders were done, everything that was left was Jack's for the taking. The car was still broken, so there wasn't much he could take. Clothes, a rifle, food and water. And then he began to walk.

“And since I'd already done it once - that made it easier, you know? It helped me get rides, or places to stay, or food, or- whatever. And sometimes - sometimes it was just for fun, or just to be with someone. I stopped in Portland the next winter. Stayed with a couple of guys who did the same thing. But the Shadows...” Jack trails off, trying not to think about what the Shadows did to one of those guys. “And I just kept walking.”

Pitch is silent for a long time, as though he's not sure if Jack's finished, or maybe he's not sure if he wants to speak himself. But it seems like it's a day for revelations, so here he goes.

“I’m a chemist. Was. That’s how I studied the Shadows. Others looked at them biologically. We never did figure out if they were alive, as we think of life. And when I did that PSA, we really did think that we were close to stopping them. But the biologists - did something. It sped up their metabolism. They bred out of control and the containment protocols failed. They infected almost everyone on the base. A few of us got away - my wife and daughter, a couple of other families. And we ran. We didn't run fast enough. My daughter-” His voice cracks, and he stops there, and Jack is grateful. It's always worse when it happens to kids. It doesn't much matter what _it_ is.

“And here we are,” Jack says.

Pitch doesn't say anything. He has his knees tucked into his chest, arms around them, head ducked in like maybe he can hide from the world. Jack sidles over and puts his hand across Pitch's shoulders, more for his own benefit than Pitch's, truth be told, but Pitch seems to get something from it to.

“Everything's fucked,” Jack says, and Pitch gives a noise that could be a laugh, if Jack uses his imagination.

The sun rises, slow and wavering, like it doesn't really want to. It's cold, but they sit there, and slowly Jack's head stops hurting quite so badly. He realises he's hungry and offers to make something.

Inside, Bunny is still asleep on the floor, looking as comfortable as could be. Jack decides not to wake him.

He goes to the little kitchenette that's just a two-ring electric hob and a pantry, freshly stocked with supplies from the fort: tins and freeze dried food and military MREs, ready-to-eat food that seems to last forever.

Tinned tomatoes and hot dogs make for a reasonable breakfast, and Pitch and Jack eat in silence. Bunny still doesn't stir apart from a few indecipherable mutterings as he dreams.

“What I said last night- You can have me, if you want,” Jack says, and Pitch blinks at him. “I meant it - I should do something in exchange for staying here.”

“You will,” Pitch says. “You'll help me service the generator, and you'll help to fix things and clean things.”

“But you said you wanted me.”

“I do. But only if you want me.”

Jack pauses, considers. He hasn't wanted anyone for years. There's something about Pitch that makes parts of Jack's brain light up that he barely recognises any more. He thinks it might be want, but he’s not good at recognising his emotions. And there’s something else, too. Something he's not figured out yet. “I'll let you know,” is all he can come up with.

Pitch nods.


End file.
